Don't Fear The Reaper
by Eisteufel
Summary: Grim Reaper in training Grell Sutcliff gets into some serious trouble during his final exam. Completely left on his own there is only one who can help: an old Legend with a heart on redheads. Undertaker X Grell
1. A Touch of Red

_****Hello everyone, well here it is... my newest story - this time about my newest obsession called Kuroshitsuji. I think it can be interpreted as shounen ai and if you like Grell together with Undertaker (as the great Shinigami Legend)... then go on and have fun reading._

_I hope you enjoy my little piece of work and: Comments are Candy :D_

_Regards, Eisteufel_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter I<br>**_

_**A Touch of Red**_

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><p><em><em>A self-contented smile curved around thin lips, thereby giving the handsome face a mischievous streak.

He watched the overcrowded street below him silently while he hold on tight to the solid metal cross of the Cathedral whose roof he was standing upon. The icy wind rumpled up his hair until it gave his vision a pleasant touch of crimson red. A pale moon had risen and although it was half hidden behind gloomy clouds the young Grim Reaper-to-be was perfectly able to keep an eye on the person he was supposed to send to Heaven within the next half an hour.

Everything seemed to be perfectly at peace… except for the emotional life of the pretty redhead.

He was pissed off to unknown limits – to put it mildly - and he knew very well who was responsible for this feeling of rising anger agglomerating in his stomach.

_Wait and see, William T. Spears… just wait and see…_

He was grinding his sharp teeth in pure frustration. Though he didn't want to he just could not get these goddamned words out of his head - these words so full of arrogance and disdain.

"I don't think that you and I should work together as a team. Due to that I made an application to the board to get another partner for the final exam… Uuhh~ yeees and because I am suuu~ch a neat and nice bootlicker I'll always get it my way…" Grell viciously aped the words of his fellow student and former exam partner in a way to high pitched voice and felt like he wanted to throw up this instance. He just could not get rid of the image of this arrogant man who was the reason why had to stand there alone on the icy church roof.

What the hell was wrong with this guy?  
>And above all what was wrong with <em>him<em> that he was so obviously rejected?

_I was the one with a triple A in Practice, not Mr. Average Joe…_ he quarrelled with himself, destiny and the entire Reaper Dispatch Society. Nonetheless, such things hurt his pride, even more than he wanted to admit it.

But screw it! He would get this case perfectly over and done with - without any help or assistance. Once he had accomplished this minor inconvenience - better known as the final exam - he would be a fully-fledged Reaper and William T. Spears would have to kiss his high-heeled feet.

_Who needs this William T. Spears, seriously? I wonder what the T. stands for anyway… I hope it's a really horrible middle name he is terribly ashamed of…_ the redhead mused absently while he was pointing his index finger to his upper lip, deeply in thoughts.

_Yes… maybe something like Trevor… or Toddy…Oh how I hope it's Toddy!_

The tuneful chime of the church tower - indicating it was already 11 p.m. -brought him back to reality.

_Only five minutes left. _

Smoothly the red shadow let go off the cross and jumped swiftly from roof to roof until he was only about two metres above the High Street. The warm orange shade of the paraffin street lights poured deep shadows onto the face of a young man standing on the pavement. Brown hair was glistening and hanging in damp bangs. It seemed like he was waiting for someone or something but finally let off a resigned frown. He held on tight to his scuffed leather briefcase and turned around. Hectically Grell flipped the pages of his file. Another short, reassuring look into the pale face of the boy – _John Mills, there you are_! - before he jumped down the roof, landing just in front of the astounded young man.

"Who… who are you?" the brunette one stuttered dumbfounded with eyes snapped wide open. "And how could you jump down the roof so easily?"

Grell just wanted to answer in his usual playful manner when he could already hear the rhythmic sound of fast approaching heels. He looked over the shoulder of his opposite and could see the running figure.

"What are you looking at?"

A short scream – way less loud than Grell would have expected – was all that could be heard, when the young man turned towards the attacker as well and eventually fell hard onto the icy ground. The robber dragged the briefcase out of the boy's weak grasp. Like a shadow the thief vanished into the gloomy narrow alley behind them - leaving nothing behind but death.

Red.

Grell's favourite colour. Slowly it stained the pure white snow the young boy way lying upon in a desperate struggle for breath. The blue eyes were staring at yellowish ones in pure terror while dry lips silently tried to form one single word: "Help!"

"Sorry lad," Grell whispered tonelessly while he leaned down to the boy, half-heartedly inspecting the deep wound a sharp blade had left onto the small chest. "But I couldn't help it!"

Blue eyes flashed open until they appeared to be more white than blue. Terrified they were reflecting the flickering orange light of the street lamps and the glistering reflection of a scythe's blade.

"I'm really sorry but business is business."

And with this word the Reaper stroke out his scythe vigorously, hitting the slowly breathing chest with such vengeance that little drops of blood splattered onto his face. Immediately the life of John Mills flashed in front of Grell's eyes – the Cinematic Records.

Slowly Grell shook his head. "You are no exception."

With a quick hitch he removed the scythe from the dying body, causing even more blood to spill out of the gaping wound.

"What the hell-"

In just the same moment Grell had removed the stained blade of his Death Scythe in order to collect the Cinematic Records, the little strips started to move around beyond control. Winding wildly some were aspiring to the darken sky, other were wriggling around the paraffin lamps, the body of the boy, the scythe Grell's trembling hands were trying to hold sternly.

"Shit… what is going on here?" Grell cursed through tightly clenched teeth in an eager attempt to free his scythe from the furious filmstrips. He could hear his blood rushing trough his ears, his own voice sounded strangely afar and hollow.

He just could not believe his eyes.

_What on earth is happening here? The Cinematic Records strips go mad…_

He tried to stand up in a futile attempt to get more space between himself and the perishing boy but in the same moment something swept him off his feet.

When his head hit the pavement with a dull thud his vision blurred for a moment.

It took him several seconds to recognize that his numb fingers had let go off his scythe, which was now lying out of his reach two metres away from him and that the strips were slowly wrapping themselves around him, thereby lifting his entire body into the air without any problems.

Desperately he tried to reach out for his weapon but in vain. Swiftly he was taken high and higher over the rooftops of the sleeping city. He was helplessly captured by the raging memories of the young, dying man below him. The Cinematic Records tightened painfully around his body - it was impossible to move even a single muscle. Slowly but surely Grell's fading out mind realized he was suffocating.

Like he was looking through a fogged-up window all he could see anymore was the pale moon, half hidden behind thick clouds.

_At least the view is nice, if I'm really supposed to die here_, Grell mused with a weak smile around cut lips. He could feel how even the last remaining air was forced out of his lungs.

_What the…_

A violently wielding flash of reflected moonlight crossed the vision of the Reaper. The constrictor like filmstrips suddenly let go off him while everything seemed to fade to a silverish gleam. All Grell could see before he fell to the ground was a silvery halo.

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><p><em>Hope you had fun reading! See you (hopefully) in the next chapter. I think you can guess who has his appearance then?=^.^=<em> 


	2. A Touch of Silver

_****A certain (smexy as hell) Shinigami enters the scene^^ Hope you enjoy it! _

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><p><em><strong>Chapter II<br>**_

_**A Touch of Silver**_

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><p><em><em>Grell hit the snow covered rooftop with such severity that he was unable to breathe for several seconds. A piercing pain rankled through his aching lungs while all remaining air was pressed out of them at one single blow. For a moment his already blurred vision got entirely white and hazy. A startled, desperate gasp for sufficient air was all Grell was capable of, while lying there petrified, staring at the starless sky and the ghostly moon above him.

_Just what the hell was _that_? _

He could still feel the adrenalin pulsing frantically through his veins and unwillingly he listened to the violent throbbing of his own heartbeat behind his temples. His ribs hurt terribly with every single breath his trembling body took. He couldn't tell for how long he had been lying there when he could hear the rhythmic click-clack of approaching heels right next to him. Ignoring the fast worsening headache he managed to turn his glance to aside – facing a pair of black leather boots with straps attached to them.

Was his shaken brain only imagining it, or did he just hear a gentle chuckle?

"Well, well…"

The soft, slightly mocking voice gave him shivers down his spine. He had to swallow hard to clear his throat from something that definitely felt like a lump of steel wool, before he dared to take a glance at the moonlight illuminated slender figure, standing in front of him like an avenging angel.

Long legs, a black trench coat and a heap of shiny, silvery hair slowly waving in the icy midnight wind. Strong arms were carrying an enormous metallic scythe which the apparition was now placing airily onto its left shoulder.

Grell felt how his stomach was violently tensing up while he was staring open mouthed at the tall stranger whose face was the only thing he could not clearly identify. Just an unsteady reflection of pale light now and then told him that his opposite was supposedly wearing glasses. Eventually the other man's slight cough brought Grell back to life like a slap in the face.

"That was pretty close. Seems like you need a little more practise, my dear," the soft voice snickered mildly amused before its owner lent Grell a hand, pulling him up onto his wobbly feet with ease.

_He sounds like he can just barely restrain himself from laughing out loud… damn it!_

Grell bit his lower lip in withhold anger, stoically ignoring the coppery taste of his own blood filling his mouth, resulting from this action.

"But for your mitigation I have to admit: Cinematic Records can be a real pain."

Green.

A deep green glimmer shone through the glasses of the reading aid when Grell finally dared to risk a closer look at the decisively taller man.

"You're a Death God!" Grell screamed and became embarrassedly silent at the same moment he had uttered these words - stating the more than obvious.

_Oh~ yes Grell… who would have guessed? He's all dressed in black, wears glasses and can see Cinematic Records. Oh and before I forget: HE'S CARRYING A GODDAMN, HUGEASS SCYTHE WITH HIM!_

"You're quite a sharp one, hm?" the silvery haired man grinned wryly. "I'm surely not wearing this just on display." Incredibly long, thin fingers almost gently caressed the enormous blade of the scythe.

"I would never have guessed…" Grell hissed annoyed, scolding himself for his damn loose tongue in such humiliating situations.

_Oh yes, these well-known humiliating situations. Just like this one I am up to my throat into!_

"Of course my dear, of course", the taller one just chuckled, grinning a wide, uninterpretable smile when he let go off the scythe's blade and adjusted his glasses.

"Then might I ask who I have the honour to encounter at this time of night?"

"Grell. Grell Sutcliff… Grim Reaper in training," the addressed one's raspy voice mumbled tonelessly.

"I see~"

Skeleton like fingers with sharp, black fingernails curved around the small, metallic frames of his rectangular glasses. The green eyes seemed to glimmer a little darker when the older Reaper eventually began to analyse the redhead with mild curiosity.

"I guess you were supposed to reap this poor creature down there on the street as part of your final exam, weren't you?"

A vague nod was all he got for an answer - Grell did not even dare to look down to the boy who was probably still in his death throes.

"And you failed miserably."

"Who do you think you-"

"Fu, fu, fu~," the silvery haired man's croaky laugh just chocked off Grell's spontaneous emotional outburst. With a suddenly stern voice he simply added:

"Well then, Grell Sutcliff… I think you need a private lesson in how to deal with these tedious Records."

"_Beg your pardon_?"


	3. A Touch of Light

_And here we go again... ^^  
><em>

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><p><em><strong>Chapter III<br>**_

_**A Touch of Light**_

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><p>At the bottom of his heart frantically hoping that he must have had misheard the words of the taller man Grell's golden eyes flashed open in complete disbelief. It surely was a misunderstanding – it just had to be!<p>

"Sorry... but... _what did you just say_?" his husky voice tried to utter the words as normal as possible but a hoarse croak was all his dry mouth was able to produce. The silvery haired man with the mysterious smile just continued his intensive examination of the red Reaper without a single word. Grell felt like this piercing emerald gaze was forcing itself deeper and deeper into the very marrow of his bones with every single glimpse.

"You'll have to learn a few things..." his opposite finally broke the silence which had wrapped itself around them like a thick woollen coat. He lapidary hiked his shoulders.

"So that _that _won't happen again," he added almost inaudibly before taking one step closer to the completely confused Reaper in training. Without any pressure he laid one hand onto a small shoulder, thereby forcing Grell gently but steadily to turn around and face the mess he had left on the pavement. A cold shiver ran instantly over Grell's back, left ice cold skin and gooseflesh behind.

From above the once white, now blood stained snow was nothing but a black, formless puddle – and within it's midst laid the motionless body of John Mills. Grell couldn't even tell why – he had seen worse than this before, even if he still was a trainee - but the sight made him feel sick. His stomach was painfully revolting. Somehow it seemed like he had lost his voice somewhere in the depths of his larynx.

"Is he...?"

"Yes. He is dead. Of course."

Once again Grell cursed his thoughtless saying but his companion didn't care much about his rash words – at least it seemed so. Just the grip around Grell's shoulder blade got firmer, tightened a little more, just for the blink of an eye.

"But his Cinematic Records are a different matter. I fear they are genuinely lost."

Immediately Grell startled up, his whole body stiffened. Pure consternation was written all over his flushed face when he spun around, glaring with an aghast yellowish glare into the sharp lined face framed by threads of silver.

"They are WHAT?"

"As you might have recognized I had to cut them to pieces," the elder Death God just shrugged apathetic. "In order to safe you. These ravaging Records can become quite dangerous for someone who is-"

"Yes, yes," he was instantly cut off by Grell's shrill, due to his boiling up anger way to high pitched voice. "For someone who is soo~ terribly inexperienced and green as I am. Got your point."

The stony smile with the sly touch around the mouth's corners –_ Is this smile carved into his visage permanently or what? -_ widened to a full blown grin.

"For someone who isn't careful enough was what I actually wanted to say but you put it in so much nicer words. Have to give you that."

Nothing but the knowing ear-to-ear grin again which made Grell frown silently.

Meanwhile the moon had decided to show its pale face once more. Radiating dim rays through shattered shreds of thick clouds it was illuminating the obscure scene with a sickly bleared light, drawing glistering shadows on silver hair and a fine stitched line running across almost white skin.

_Scars…_

Reluctantly Grell swallowed his hurt pride and flaming anger. Right now he was way too distracted by the scarred face of the man right next to him. Thanks to the now present moonlight he was finally able to really _see_ more than just some contours of it. And what he saw right now made him ponder on his new, easily amused encounter.

_Who the hell is he? And where did he receive such bad scars from? I'm sure I've never met him before but he looks so... strangely familiar... just where on earth did I see him before? _Grell couldn't fight these nagging thoughts when he was examining the – on closer inspection- really handsome stranger in a little more detail.

_This isn't just any Death God!_

The realization hit him as sudden as if he had been struck by lightning. And he did not like the direction of his train of thoughts at all.

_He is an old Death,_ Grell eventually came to a conclusion that tightened up his throat.

_Judging by his know-it-all attitude and the form of his scythe he has to be a really old Death indeed. Nobody uses _real _scythes as customized Death Scythes anymore. Except they are..._

A vague giggle interrupted Grell's musing abruptly.

_Shit! I was completely lost in thoughts!_

"When you are done gazing open mouthed at my person we really should get back to work again, my dear."

_Grell Sutcliff, Grim Reaper in training died in the prime of his life unexpectedly and painfully. During his final exam he could not withstand such unnameable humiliation, shame and complete disgrace. The reaping was performed by the hottest man he had ever laid eyes on. May his poor soul rest in peace._

"You won't pass the exam if you aren't able to reap someone correctly tonight. And I think without my help that won't be possible."

With these pragmatic words the elder Reaper just grabbed the completely immersed in his dark thoughts redhead and dragged him to the edge of the roof.

"At first we should try to find your scythe," he smiled but Grell only saw it from the corner of one eye. He would never dare to look into that face again. Never ever!

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><p><em>Tehe, slowly but surely we get to the core of the plot... in the next chapter at least.^^ I hope you like it so far :) If there are any mistakes please let me know.<em>

_Eisteufel_


	4. A Touch of Blue

_****Tehehe, hello there! Now finally, finally, finally we get to some little one-on-one action between those two. Just a little... :)_

_Thank you for the nice and encouraging comments so far. It took some time to get to the real core of the story but now it eventually begins to get (at least I hope so) interesting. ^.^_

_Eisteufel_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter IV<br>**_

_**A Touch of Blue**_

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><p><em><em>With a faint thud Grell's heels alighted on the slippery cobblestone pavement of the deserted High Street after he had been forced to jump down the rooftop by two surprisingly strong arms, which had just dragged him down with them into the abyss. He could still feel the stinging pain where razorblade like nails had worked its way into his upper arm flesh like glass splinters.

From afar a well-known melodic bell-ringing reached his ears. It was midnight already.

To be completely honest, the blood red reaper did not know what to do now _at all_.

This whole situation seemed so outright weird, strange and unreal... and to make things even worse it slipped more and more out of his control with every further elapsed second.

_How could things just take such a terribly wrong turn?_ he asked himself pitifully.

By now he rather should have been celebrating his first real, successful reaping with lots of champagne and friendly chatter instead of facing his bloodless, blue-eyed failure. He could already picture the dismissive face of William goddamn _T._ Spears and his mocking saying of how right he was to reject Grell as an exam partner in the first place, as soon as he would return to the Dispatch Office – hanging his pretty head in bitter shame because he hadn't reaped but a single soul tonight.

And that would exactly be the very case _very _soon since he would - under no circumstances - degrade himself even further while this old Death over there was about to roll on the floor in manic laughter because of him.

Resigned Grell's yellow gaze wandered over the street and though he fought it as hard as he could, his eyes simply couldn't withstand being glued to one particular thing.

Although Grell didn't want to he just could not resist this sickening inner urge to get closer to the body of John Mills who was staring at him accusingly with these lifeless, frozen azure eyes of his which slowly became an ungainly greyish touch. It hit him like a train.

Clearly audible Grell hawked to clear his sandpaper dry throat before he had the courage to ask the question which felt like a several ton weighting stone on his chest. He bowed down to the corpse, reluctantly touching an ice-cold cheek.

"So his memories…"

He interrupted himself, not even knowing if his fellow was actually listening to him. A slight rustle of cloth was all he got for reassurance that his companion hadn't disappeared out in a haze.

"What_ exactly_ happens if the Records are destroyed?"

Silence. Only the silent rustling of clothes again and the faint clicking sound of readjusted glasses.

"They are lost. Forever."

The utterly soft voice said these words with such definiteness and indifference at the same time that it raised Grell's hackles. Tasting the upcoming feeling of disgust in his mouth he got up to his feet quickly before the silvery haired man continued airily:

"The reaping couldn't be completed correctly. Of course the boy is dead but if the Reaper isn't able to collect the Records – because they were destroyed by for example an immensely hot burning fire or because they have been cut into really small pieces, then..."

Suddenly and completely out of nowhere the slender black figure appeared right next to Grell's side, looking at him face to face with a stern expression.

"Well I think you can guess what happens then, don't you?" he whispered sharply.

Grell clenched his fists tight while biting his lower lip unconsciously. With a haunted streak around his mouth he was avoiding stoically the interrogating green gaze and the proximity of the delicately featured yet badly scarred face when he mumbled:

"If the Records aren't collected they can't be turned into Books of Doomsday and stored in the Library. It is like he... like his soul had never existed in the first place..." he shivered involuntarily.

_Bloody cold tonight..._

"But can't we try to restore them? Is there no way?"

It startled him how pleadingly his own voice echoed in his ears. His counterpart just snickered lowly.

"No my dear, I'm afraid once something is truly lost there is no way to ever get it back again. It will never return."*

He had to swallow hard. So it really_ was_ definite.

"I'm trying to find my scythe then!" Grell almost squealed, desperately trying to get away from the body, that maddening, knowing green gaze and the upcoming _very_ distressing feeling of rising discomfort.

Ignoring the surprised look he received, Grell passionately turned his attention towards the snow covered ground. He had to think clearly. _Clearly_ for heaven's sake! He tried to remember the last moments before his head had hit the pavement and he had lost hold over his scythe.

_Where was that…? I was standing towards the boy when I fell so it was... somewhere under that street light I guess… _

He let his glance roam while seeking for the right memories.

The clatter of heels behind him made him startle up. Something tipped lightly onto his shoulder - the small blade of his own trainee scythe instantly popped into his field of vision as Grell turned his head.

"I doubt that this will be of any help anymore," his companion stated in a pragmatic manner, holding up the dissipated pieces of Grell's Death Scythe in withhold amusement while its owner could clearly see with utter terror that the wooden handle was neatly cut into half.

"Sharp little beasts, these Records I guess," Grell hissed constrained, fighting the unsettling thought that this torn apart handle easily might have been his body.

"I can still remember a time when these trainee scythes were made of better quality," a tired sigh escaped a clean-cut mouth and with a disapproving look the older Death God was inspecting the slightly splinted wood, appearing completely appalled by its cheap workmanship. Holding them with just two fingers, the broken pieces dangled now in front of his contemptuous looking eyes.

"And they _definitely _were bigger."

_Just exactly _how_ old is this guy if he remembers a time when every trainee got a full-blown Death Scythe to practise with?_

"Well then, it can't be helped," the elder Reaper finally let go off the pieces and within the blink of an eye a little black book with frilly pink floral ornaments manifested right in front of Grell's nose. Thin fingers grasped it and swiftly flipped the pages.

"Ah here it is~!" a triumphantly giggle could be heard. "As I remembered correctly there is a reaping to be done within the next hour. But you just can't do it with this _thing_," green eyes glared scornful at the Death Scythe puzzle to his feet.

"So try if you can handle this."

With a loud, echoing impact the solid metal handle of the enormous scythe hit the ground only centimetres away from Grell's toes. He felt like he had completely lost his tongue just by a mere look at the heavy tool.

"There… there is no way I could possibly wield... _this_!"

An amused laughter escaped the man who was holding the impressive soul collecting tool with ease.

"Don't worry, I'll show you. I think it's time for you to learn how to handle a _real _scythe."

And with these words on his mischievously grinning lips he instantaneously positioned himself behind the paralyzed redhead, holding him literally captured with the helve of his scythe which caused Grell to whimper in terrified surprise.

He could feel the lean, strong body right behind him, now and then smoothly leaning against his back, thereby radiating a pleasant heat. Warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of his ear, lips were forming coarsely whispered words only millimetres away from it and a soft strand of silvery hair brushed lightly against his flushed cheek.

"Just try to hold it. _Gently_."

_Easier said than done when your legs feel like they are about to give in any moment…_

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><p><em>* I just borrowed this line from Ciel because I think its just beautiful... and it fits so well ;) Please excuse this little plagiarism. ^^<em>

_And did I mention that I'm deeply in love with Undertaker's Death Scythe? It already was great in the Anime but since I've read the newest chapter of the Manga... just a~wesome!_

_I was so damn hyper about it! THAT is a scythe... makes Grell's chainsaw look like a toy in comparison. ^.^_

_Real men use REAL scythes ^.^_


	5. A Touch of Pain

_****It's me again. I know, I know... this chapter is rather short but it took me some serious trouble writing this part. The next ones are going to be longer again (I think I somehow suck in describing interpersonal relationships in English...). Well, at least the two have some nice interaction right now. Somehow.^^_

_Hope you enjoy it anyway - please let me know. And if not: please let me know also._

_Thank you very much for your kind comments, it really, really makes me happy to read that you like my story! :-)_

_Greetings, Eisteufel_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter V<br>**_

_**A Touch of Pain**_

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><p><em><em>Grell's numb limbs quivered in sheer panic.

Even though the young Reaper tried to stick tenaciously to the pitiable remains of his devastated self-control, his tired out muscles just fulfilled movements against his own will. It was simply impossible to restrain the terrible tremor that was holding his entire body clasped in a firm, cold as death grasp of fear.

The nasty, burning feeling in his throat increased steadily while his eyes were captivated by the sight of the solid scythe of his encounter. Its massive helve formed an almost vertical barrier in front of him - only centimetres away from his quickly breathing chest, it silently kept him in place.

He faced the intimidating blade and the attached skull, wearing a crown of thorns, with rather disgust.

But the decisively worst part of his strange captivity was this way too warm, way too pleasantly musky smelling body leaning against his back. He could sense the constant lifting and lowering of the chest brushing against his rear with every low breath the taller man took.

"My, my..." the familiar, softly teasing voice casually caressed the skin of his neck, thereby sending jolts of ecstasy up Grell's spine that made his flesh crawl. He could literally feel how his cheeks were trying to invent an even deeper shade of "tomato red".

C_an it possibly get any worse...?_

"Just try to calm down a little, my dear. It will neither bite nor cut you, I promise."

Grell realised a slight nod of his capturers head right next to his own, pointing towards the sharp edge of the blade, thereby tickling his skin with flicks of silky hair.

_Ve~ry encouraging, indeed!_

Grell bit his lower lip in order to constrain himself from arguing. The mere look at the skull scared the living daylights out of him and the owner of that goddamn gentle voice could just barely suppress the slight mocking undertone in it? That was just not fair! And this distracting burning heat rising inside him was certain as death not fair either!

And to make matters even worse Grell's legs felt like they were about to give in to the weight of his body any second, while his utterly confused mind desperately tried to find _any _kind of suitable reply or reaction. His brain opted out completely. He breathed in sharply through gritted teeth as he sensed how this seductively lean body shifted its weight a little and thereby got even closer to his own until these strong arms were almost embracing his trembling figure from behind. Pale, small-boned fingers still hold the metallic handle upright without even the slightest trouble or tremble. And as if things still weren't bad enough yet: he could _feel _a devilish satisfied smirk against his temple.

"Give it a try!" the voice purred temptingly when a warm cheek gently leaned against his. A single strand of shiny hair fell over a slim, black cloaked shoulder, swiftly gliding over Grell's collarbone. Suddenly Grell felt almost happy that he could sense the soothing coolness of the metal right next to him – it made the blistering heat radiated by this unknown touch way more bearable.

"It's not as impossible as you might think," the purring continued while Grell was just too awestruck and dumbfounded to even form _any_ kind of coherent thought at all. His mind had a severe power failure and was going to black out then and there.

"Just place your hands on the handle and grab it firmly. It really is not that difficult. Just firmly but gently."

Without further persuasion or even thinking Grell did what he had been told. Definitely, this voice had a really mesmerizing effect on him. A satisfied chuckle tickled his overheated skin when his shivering fingers finally clung to the cold metal.

"There you go... see~?"

The silvery haired man seemed to be pretty pleased with his student until...

He let go off the scythe.

_Bloody hell, Jesus Christ! THIS IS HEEEAAAVYYYY!_

A sharp sting of pain rushed through Grell's nerves and all of a sudden the lights in the young Reaper's head were switched on again. He startled up from his paralysis immediately when an incredibly heavy weight yanked at his arms with such violence that he feared his joints got dislocated.

Metal met cobblestone pavement with a deafening clatter and clanging. Grell just stood there and stared, too taken aback and too startled to even bat his eyelashes. His aching arms hung in front of his limp body like they weren't a part of it anymore, like the limbs of a puppet whose strings had been cut.

His silvery haired encounter just watched the whole scene with perplexed astonishment, scratching his head with one long fingernail - musing absently.

"I see~. So _this_ is your interpretation of "gently". Really interesting approach indeed."

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><p><em>Teheh^^ Awww I like it when Undertaker is… well just like he usually is... you probably know what I mean. ^^<em>

_I hope they are in character. Undertaker is clear I think but I fear a little about Grell...? Too much of a sissy?_


	6. A Touch of White

_Hello there, it's me again. ^.^_

I'm so sorry that I've kept you waiting for so long but it took my a little more time to write the new chapter. University has started for a new semester again and I am completely into its cold, merciless grasp of academic work -.-

But at least the newest chapter is quite long so it may somehow repay you for the waiting ;) It is in fact my favourite chapter so far so I am curious of what you may think about it.

I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading and all the lovely comments.

Regards, Eisteufel

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><p><em><strong>Chapter VI<br>**_

_**A Touch of White**_

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><p>Grell gritted his teeth until his jaw ached while he fought with himself and his contrary feelings.<p>

He still wasn't quite sure of what to do now:

Run and hide so he would never see this silvery haired Death again? _- No, I am too tired to run really fast right now. _

Bury a deep hole into the ground and die there alone and humiliated to the bone?_ - No... I don't have a spade and the ground is frozen solid..._

Or maybe strangle that black clothed bastard in front of him after he had wiped out that ever-present mocking smile out of his face with a nice little punch? -_ Oh yes, that would be a veeery interesting approach indeed!_

"Don't look so sour my dear," Grell's thoughts got abruptly interrupted. "It does not suit your pretty face at all."

_Or just swallow any kind of upcoming emotion and urging desire to cling to him right now and try to ignore his presence immediately? Possibly the best alternative of all! Just breathe, Grell! Breathe and calm down!_

Reluctantly Grell realized through half-closed eyes framed by scarlet eyelashes that his long haired opposite was still staring at him in an intensive, unimpressed manner, curving one of his overly long black fingernails around his lips in silent musing before he finally continued speaking– stoically ignoring the flaming daggers Grell was glaring at him with an uninterpretable smile.

"But I really wish you would take better care of my belongings next time, will you? After all these years working with it I got quite attached to my little scythe, you know?"

"_Little? _You call this monstrosity_ little?_" Grell almost chocked on this "little" but so completely misplaced word. Just how strong was this haggard looking guy and where did he hide the amounts of muscles necessary to carry such a thing with such repulsive ease?

"How can a thin and gaunt person like you handle such a thing anyway?" Grell pouted defensively.

"Oh please dear. Don't judge presents by their wrapping. That's so terribly misleading."

Smiling a wicked grin which was probably supposed to look appalled he slowly bent down to collect his scythe which was still lying in front of Grell's feet. At this very second the redhead was really tempted to kick the older Death God's sweet little ass right back to where it came from in the first place. Grell's thoughts rushed through his head like a never ending train while he struggled to forbid his already flushed cheeks to turn even more fiery red at this sight.

He had never been more humiliated in his entire life and then there was this man who was not only the reason why he felt like a pubescent bundle of nerves but who also obviously had the guts to make suggestive comments about his actions. What did he do wrong in his past life to deserve _this_?

"Don't bother with the scythe, I am leaving anyway. Screw the bloody exam, I have more than enough for tonight," Grell hissed through tightly clenched shark teeth. The response to his infuriated saying was just a lightly raised eyebrow when the man returned to an upright position, flippantly brushing some gotten astray strands of hair back over his shoulder.

"My, my," the owner of the pale eyebrow frowned. "You've got quite a temper."

While uttering these words he gently caressed the blade of his tool with one fingertip while coming closer to Grell once again.

"Even though I think it suits you, you definitely have to learn when to keep your mouth shut once in a while."

With a slow thud the handle of the scythe alighted onto the cobblestone again.

"Tell me, my dear, weren't you supposed to be teamed up with some other student? The fact that you are _not_ means that you are either ve~ry self-esteemed indeed..." one single look out of deep dark eyes scanned over the entirely reddened face in front of him "or... that you were dumped by your partner and the Dispatch Office."

The mocking grin got a little wider as he could see how the slender body in front of him stiffened just a little more by the mention of the word "dumped".

_Damn this bastard!_

Grell could not even finish his mental scolding completely, when out of nowhere a cold hand gently stroke over his burning hot cheek, thereby offering a pleasantly soothing chill. With a swift flick of his thin fingers the silvery haired man swept one scarlet hair strand back into its place.

"Checkmate, mh?" he sneered, his thumb slid lightly over Grell's parted lips, preventing any further answer.

"So what do you think, Grim Reaper in training Grell Sutcliff," he continued, suddenly sounding way more serious than ever before. The playful, mocking undertone in his voice had gone completely. A darker note had sneaked its way into it, giving that voice a viciously seductive sound. Grell clung fervidly to the very edge of his self-control, struggling not to lean into the caressing touch any further. Sensing how the thumb slowly worked its way down from his lips so it was finally placed under his chin, Grell was gently but steadily forced to look directly into that deep green eyes, way too close to his own.

"Don't you want to show them that you can do this even under those unlucky circumstances? Don't make me revise my estimation of you. Because up until now I have to admit, that it would be a rather pity to see such a nice little Reaper failing in his exams just because the circumstances weren't that pretty." A sly giggle escaped pale lips but the sharp edge in his voice, while his breath touched Grell's heated skin, did not disappear.

"What a complete waste it would be, don't you agree my dear? So~...?"

"I…" a hoarse voice fought to form this single huskily said word.

_Where the hell did my voice go?_

"I… I'll try…"

_That goddamn mesmerizing look again! It's like I've being hypnotized. I can't believe what I am saying here myself!_

"That's the right attitude dear," suddenly the familiar playful tune had found its way back into the words of his opposite who now let go off Grell's chin as fast as if the touch never happened. With eyes snapped open the red Reaper just stared blankly.

"I fear we have to hurry a little. It is almost time. I think we played around a little too long."

"Who is supposed to die anyway?" Grell snapped defiantly, over glad that he had finally managed to force his voice to work almost normally again. It certainly helped that the warm heat of the way to close body had gone and left him some air to breathe. The black book with the frilly pink ornaments appeared again and with a little giggle his fellow flipped through the pages.

"Mhh… let's see, let's see… aah here it is," with a swift movement he handled the book over to Grell who did his best to read the very squiggly lines written in pink ink. He had to narrow his eyes to slits to even read some of the words.

"Martha Trellawny, 10 years old..."

A cold shiver ran down his spine.

_So young…_

"She is supposed to die of hypothermia in the East End at 1 a.m. We really should leave now if we don't want to be late." The grip around the handle of the scythe firmed, Grell shuddered involuntarily.

"And don't worry. I won't ask you to carry this. It will suffice if you can hold it just long enough to place one strike."

"Very reassuring, thank you. And so much of a Gentleman you are," the younger Reaper teased pouting while puckering his brows. He didn't like the thought at all. To go to a reaping with this walking personality disorder and to handle that heavy scythe again and get his joint dislocated for real this time did not sound appealing to him at all. But he had not much time to think about it any further when the man next to him suddenly moved with such speed that he was nothing more but a silvery shadow within the blink of an eye. Just like the shadow when Grell had seen him for the first time. A silvery halo.

Grell had to hurry to not lose sight of him in the now pitch-black night. The lazy moon was hiding again behind a cloak of gloomy clouds.

He had completely lost track of time when the shadow vaguely manifested again on one rooftop about ten metres away from him. Silently Grell jumped down from a chimney before he also reached the roof. The icy wind yanked at his hair and clothes and blew up the wide tailcoats of his company.

"Ten minutes left. Let's wait here and observe."

The little narrow alley down below seemed so dead and dark that Grell had problems to even detect any sign of life. He focussed so hard on looking that the little snowflake which landed on top of his nose gave him a start. Dumbfounded he turned his gaze towards the grey sky. "Look, it is snowing..." a little smile found its way onto his lips.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes. And it is the reason why she will die soon."

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><p><em>Teheheh... well there it is. :) The reaping is about to happen in the next chapter and then finally there will be some one on one time between those two again. I hope you liked this part and see you next time. ;)<em>


	7. A Touch of Death

_Huhu. ^^ And here we go again ;) The new chapter is really soon this time, ne? ^^_

_Mhh... there is actually not much left to say but: hope you enjoy it._

_Regards, Eisteufel_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter VII<br>**_

_**A Touch of Death**_

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><p><em><em>Utterly perplexed Grell averted his eyes from the grey sky and the slowly falling ice crystals before he hesitantly turned his head towards his companion.

"I told you she will die from exposure," the elder Death added casually while shrugging his slender shoulders, moving his free hand in an apathetic gesture, still facing the street below them expressionless. A short nod was all he got for an answer when Grell silently watched the little snowflakes melt rapidly in his reached out hands.

"We should be going then. You said it's almost time," he mumbled before jumping down the rooftop in an instant without even looking at his fellow for a second time.

As soon as he alighted on the pavement of the alley he was surrounded by perfect darkness. In this poor part of London paraffin lanterns were very rare and only the High Street possessed some - too expensive for the city to place some in every single little sideway of this maze called East End.

Furthermore, this had the very nice side effect that all the dark and dirty places with all its dirty, garbled and unwanted inhabitants got shrouded in velvet, indifferent darkness. Some things were better kept hidden under a dark cloak of ignorance.

_Out of sight out of mind. Even if they are your own kind you're so desperately trying to hide. Humans are really strange creatures... _

"I can't see a bloody thing," Grell muttered while he peered into the darkness, still in search for a sign of fading life. The slight rustling of the trench coat and the click-clack of landing heels right next to him was his only hint that he wasn't alone on the street.

"Is this really the right place?" he asked into the murkiness towards the direction he supposed his companion was standing. He could barely make out his contours.

"There dear. Take a closer look."

The faintly flashing reflection of the scythe's tip was pointing at something that vaguely resembled a brick wall. Grell had to look really hard to detect the crouched bunch on the ground snuggled up against it. Even though his eyes got more and more used to the darkness around him with every elapsed second, without the advice he still would have mistaken it for waste or some old cloth.

With an uneasy feeling the young Reaper approached the weakly breathing bundle before he went down on his haunches. Although he was that close he could not even tell for sure which hair colour the girl had. Everything seemed just grey, slowly covered up by a thin layer of pale snow.

_Down here even the snow does not look beautiful anymore._

"It is time. Not a really dramatic ending but an ending, nonetheless."

Grell could hear the soft voice right beside him. He hadn't noticed the man had also gone on his knees.

"An ending, nonetheless..." Grell repeated the words in a monotonous voice, suddenly his whole body felt strangely numb. It was the same feeling that had afflicted him when John Mill's dead eyes had stared at him about an hour ago. "A really sad ending... and nobody will take notice but us."

His voice cracked.

He had to bit back something that painfully felt like tears. Why did it stress him so much to see this little human thing? Did he feel sorry for her? Goddamn it, he was a Death after all. He _should_ not feel sorry.

Grell winced when he could feel a bony hand on his shoulder.

"You get used to it when time goes by," a low whisper was breathed against his cheek.

"You'll see better. You'll see worse. But you'll always see death."

A pale hand tightened the grip around the shoulder when a tired sigh made the body next to Grell's shudder.

"But I fear after all these years I'm so used to it that I've almost forgotten how it feels like to see this for the first time - such a pitiable needless dying."

Grell swallowed hard to clear his dry throat, still staring at the little girl in front of him, trying to figure out some more details and features of her but failed completely.

"Day in, day out obeying superior's orders subtlety and discreetly, hu?" the red Reaper lowly repeated the phrase which had been drilled into his head since the very first day he had ever set foot into the Reaper Dispatch Office.

"It is more like obeying them indifferently. Peacefully, but indifferently... oh dear," he moaned theatrically before a manic giggle made the slender body quiver badly with every single laughter. The hand let go off the shoulder to wipe away a few tears.

"_This_ is when you know you're getting old. When you're hitting the age of having regrets and start to cry over spilled milk."

Grell kept silent while he listened to the words, still staring at the bundle in front of him.

_He almost sounds like he is fed up with doing this… like he is really sick and tired of being a Death God. _

Another look at the little girl tightened up his throat, made it suddenly difficult for him to swallow.

_On the other hand one couldn't blame him for saying this. If one saw something like this day in day out for _centuries_..._

"Maybe this is the reason why you act like a full-blown lunatic sometimes," Grell mumbled more to himself but to his companion but nonetheless, the head next to him lifted with such speed that strands of silvery hair touched Grell's face.

"Oh no dear, there you are mistaken," he gently chuckled which caused Grell to start at the sound.

"That's done on purpose, I assure you. But well..."

Suddenly the handle of the scythe found its way into Grell's field of view.

"We should bring this job to an end, don't you think?"

A weak sigh was all that could be heard when Grell got to his feet again and numb fingers grasped the cold handle with unease. He could feel the heavy weight yanking at his wrists again before he somehow managed it to place the blade of the scythe onto his shoulder. It felt like his bone was about to crack any second.

"Just aim for her chest. One single blow and we're done here," the soft voice tried to reassure while its owner just crossed his long arms in front of his chest, leaning lazily against the brick wall but still kept his eyes glued to Grell's trembling body consistently.

Grell's fingers clung to the handle as if it was the only saviour in a vast and wild ocean. With all might and main and all strength he could afford he fought to lift the blade over his head and lunged out, thereby keeping his eyes firmly shut – because of the painful endeavour or because he didn't want to see how this monstrosity hit the little body he could not tell.

The massive blade dashed through the air with a vengeance as Grell's arms gave in to the weight. He wasn't even sure if he had hit his target until he opened his lids and instantaneously the cold blue light of the aspiring records flashed in front of his eyes, formed sky high pillars of memories. Fluorescent stripes cut through the air and the peacefully falling snow, whooshed higher and higher, thereby revealing the short life of Martha Trellawny.

Grell could feel how his hands began to lose their grip of the scythe's handle while he watched stock-still the squiggly movements of the silver strips. The last scene of the Cinematic Records flashed past his eyes. A little girl with crimson red hair quite similar to Grell's own hair colour curled up to a ball and was gut-wrenchingly crying in the freezing cold. The Records scrolled further and further down, reaching the end of the filmlet way too soon.

A tired and hooded gaze turned towards the dark sky, observed how the first snow began to fall. There was only one single thought until the Records ended:

"I don't want to die here! _I don't want to die_!"

"_Take care_!"

A sharp pain shot through Grell's head when one razorblade sharp filmstrip suddenly changed direction, carved deeply into the flesh of his cheek. He could feel the hot warm liquid of his own blood running down his cheekbone, quickly reaching the chin.

"Grell! _Stop_ _daydreaming and move the goddamn scythe already_!"

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><p><em>See you next week ^^<em>


	8. A Touch of Fear

_****Hello everyone,_

_and here we go again. ^.^_

_Yeeah the comments hit double digits this week. :) Thank you very much for your support and the really nice feedback. Well and we've almost reached the end of our little journey... the next chapter will be the last (at least I suposse so, for so far ;))_

_I hope you enjoy the new chapter. :)_

_Regards, Eisteufel_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter VIII<br>**_

_**A Touch of Fear**_

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><p>Hot sticky blood ran down from the deep slash wound on his burning cheek, slowly dripped to his chin and throat and left crimson lines on his face when Grell's eyes snapped open in a desperate approach to manage the situation.<p>

Sky high shiny pillars of memories worked their way up into the midnight air when suddenly more and more of them got astray, whooshed hither and yon, into every possible direction.

It was like he was watching his personal déjà-vu - these ravaging records aspiring into the starless night like silvery rivers, slowly but surely getting more and more out of control.

"Grell, for heaven's sake, _move already_!" the order was shouted against the now heavily storming wind and the wildly dancing snowflakes.

Hardly in time Grell bent his head aside to avoid a second sharp cut on his cherished face when another record missed it only by a hair's breadth. Out of his eye's corner Grell could see a few strands of crimson hair fly to the ground - clearly cut off.

His quivering arms frantically tried to lift the scythe from the ground above his head to fulfil a second strike when another silver strip scraped by his face and showed its content:

"I don't want to die here!" Tear-dimmed green eyes stared into the sky, followed one single snowflake until it finally hit a trembling, outreached hand. The whole bend doubled body was shivering badly when another snowflake was focussed and the procedure continued. "I don't want to die… _I just don't want to die here_!"

_The struggle of a dying person… she's fighting against death_.

"Against _us_..." Grell mumbled when the last minutes of Martha's life passed by his eyes and he suddenly remembered one of the very first things which had been taught to him during his traineeship: "Even if they are weak and fragile, please remember that a human's life is very hard to drag out. They cling to life until their very fast breath."

"Got some fighting spirit in you, little girl, have to give you that!" Grell smirked wryly when the record further dashed by with enormous speed, leaving a thin, skin-deep scratch on his cheek.

_Shit!_

Within the blink of an eye the word around him got strangely blurred and foggy. Like he was looking through a very thick mist the shining records got all hazy and indistinct.

_"My glasses!"_

Panic shot through his body with a vengeance so that Grell feared his wobbly knees would give in instantaneously. Even when he tried to narrow his eyes to slots he could not see his surrounding clearly anymore and he had no idea where his glasses might have been hurled to. Something brusquely yanked at his leg with such sheer brutality that he almost lost his footing while hot warm liquid moistened the cloth of his suit's trousers. Razorblade sharp records started to entangle his ankles, cut deeply into his aching skin while they wrapped themselves tight and tighter around his already captured limb. Like a sharp-edged rope they twined up his leg, made him grit his teeth in withhold anguished cries.*

"Bloody hell dear, you really_ are_ attracting trouble everywhere you go, aren't you?"

Out of nowhere the voluminous dark voice suddenly brushed against Grell's neck like a warm, soothing breeze. The older Death sighed with a shake of his head when he closed the space between them entirely. Grell could feel two strong, well-known arms firmly tightening around him, a lean chest thereby forcefully pressing against his rear when thin fingers covered Grell's trembling ones, clung to the heavy handle of the scythe with versed force. A wave of heat radiated through Grell's fingers up into his entire body, intertwined with a sharp sting - the overly long nails cut painfully into Grell's already white knuckles when he could feel his arms were moving against his will and entirely without his help.

"What are you doing?" Grell squealed in blind panic when the firm grip around his hands tightened even more until a severe pain shot up his arms which were forcefully lifted above his head.

He could literally sense how a wicked smirk formed against the back part of his head when his arms were dragged into the air with ease.

"Our job, dear!"

Grell's eyes snapped open in complete disbelief when his arms were forced to strike out and make a swipe at the ravaging filmstrips coiling themselves around them faster and faster.

Like a flash of dashing iron the blade cut through the shining serpent-formed memories, cut them into tiny pieces which lazily fluttered in the wind, mingled with the glistening snowflakes until they finally alighted on the ground like fallen leaves.

"You can collect them know," the voice reached Grell's ears from behind. Everything sounded way too far away, brassy and hollow as if the voice spoke to him out of some kind of metallic tube.

Again something pulled at his arms and the scythe fulfilled a crescent shaped movement for a second time.

A glaring light focussed at the tip of the scythe, shone brightly in a cold and gloriously glimmering blue flash. In giddy spins the remaining filmstrips were attracted, drawn nearer to the blinding light until they finally got absorbed by the scythe with a last brilliant dark blue gleam.

The night was pitch-black again when the last bits of the cut through records lost their light and faded into the dirty ground and the trodden snow they were lying upon.

Panting incoherently Grell just could not avert his eyes from the tip of the scythe. Even though all light had vanished and he saw nothing more but dimly shining metal, he just could not withstand the urge to stare until he shifted his focus a little. The bundle to his feet wasn't breathing anymore, laid still and dead onto the pavement.

_You lost, dear... in the end your struggle was entirely in vain._

A sly giggling, reflected tenfold by the blank walls, gave him a start.

Wordlessly Grell lowered the scythe he was still holding without any help until he could hear the clanging sound when metal hit cobblestone.

"You see~?" the voice echoed through the alley. Without his glasses it was impossible for Grell to detect the precise position of his fellow. "I told you it is not that hard to wield this scythe."

"_You_…"

Grell could not help it anymore. He had fought against this upcoming feeling since the very fist second he had met this man but now he finally had hit his ultimate limit.

"Will you cut out the damn laughing already?" Grell screamed, clenching his fists until his rigid knuckles turned white and ached even more as they already did. "I might have died here because of you, do you really think this is funny?" his voice quavered, he did not even bother to keep it even anymore. He did not care the slightest when he continued glaring poisonous glances into the direction he supposed his personal gadfly was standing. "I told you that I want to go home – you didn't let me go. I told you that I can't handle the scythe and you insisted me to use it. I got hurt and you think it is _amusing_? I'm just entirely sick of all this, especially of you!"

He only half-heartedly realized how his already raspy voice snapped until it finally cracked when he uttered the last few words. He felt terrible. Just terribly and inexpressibly furious and angry. Angry with this man, with this night but above all angry with himself.

The permanent slight giggle hushed and became entirely silent which caused Grell to feel rather nervous.

_Ok Grell, now you have really screwed things up!_

Taking slowly, predatory like steps, the click-clack of the heels drew nearer. Even though he was literally blind the read Reaper could eventually sense the presence of the man only centimetres away from his flashed face. He had to look really hard but he actually could identify the contours of his opposite, the glittering melting snowflakes in his damp hair, the sharp line of his mouth, the deep dark glimmer in his dangerously narrowed eyes.

"Please shut your mouth for once, will you?"

_Yes Grell, you really _are_ fucked now!_

A small smile was dancing around the corners of the silvery haired man's mouth, when he simply put Grell's dropped down glasses back onto the bridge of its owner's nose, readjusted them with a slightly sceptical look until he seemed entirely satisfied. Grell wasn't sure if he should be happy because he was able to see clearly again or if it hadn't been the better option to be oblivious of the sinister glimmer in these green depths. Bony, yet due to the fight surprisingly warm fingers cupped Grell's chin firmly.

"For a _Death God_," he overemphasized the last two words distinguishably but still continued his usual speaking in a soft tone of voice, "who had just been rescued from imminent death _twice,_ you are definitely lacking gratitude, Grell."

Slowly he started to trace the curve of Grell's cheekbone with his thumb before he leaned in, stopped only millimetres away from his ear:

"I recommend a reconsideration of your attitude. Because the next time", his voice was nothing more but a toneless whisper brushing against Grell's skin "I will just stand there and watch you perish if I won't get a little "thank you" in return. _Are we clear_?"

Grell could sense how his muscles tightened up painfully more and more with every single breathed word. Ramrod-straight he desperately fought for his composure while his breath hitched.

"Cr-crystal clear," he whimpered.

The thumb loosened its grip around his chin immediately. The evil little smile widened into a full-blown ear-to-ear Cheshire Cat grin within the blink of an eye.

"That's nice to hear, dear. Then I think we are done here."

With a lowly, guttural chuckle he turned on his heel - waving goodbye to the awestruck Reaper with his left hand without turning around to face him for a second time.

"I'll meet you at the Dispatch Office, Grell Sutcliff. I think you will have to explain a few things. Best of luck for that."

It took Grell several minutes to get his wits together while his eyes still rammed daggers into the slender, black clothed rear which was quickly disappearing into the greyish night. Icy wind played with strands of silvery hair which dimly shimmered due to the molten ice crystals within it.

His exhausted brain leaped a few seconds until it finally realized Grell's now foremost problem:

"_You bloody geezer, how the hell am I supposed to drag this damn thing to the Dispatch Office?"_

His scream faded into the wailing wind as if the events of the night had been nothing more but an unpleasant dream.

* * *

><p><em>*Teheheh... well, who needs Tentacle Rape anymore? Kuroshitsuji has Cinematic Records Rape. Hell yeah ^.^<em>

_See you next week ^.^_


	9. A Touch of Green

_Hello there, it's me again.^^ I have to admit I'm standing here corrected._

_I still have so many ideas that want to get used in this story that the last part of the story will take a little more space as I initially expected. So this will be the third or second last chapter._

_Please bear with me, it won't take too long until we come to an end ;)_

_Hope you enjoy the new chapter and meanie Will at his best._

_Greetings, Eisteufel_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter IX<br>**_

_**A Touch of Green**_

* * *

><p><em><em>After a two hour death march through the icy winter's night Grell's aching feet finally stumbled their way into the Great Hall of the Grim Reaper's Library.

Entirely out of breath and completely worn out he was fighting the beginning of a very vicious headache while he praised every higher being he could think of for the mercy of finally arriving this place with this goddamn, oversized hindrance in tow. His limbs felt numb and heavy as if they weren't part of his maltreated body anymore when he tugged the massive blade over the door sill. To be honest he was more than surprised that his arms were still attached to his body and didn't fall off about an hour ago. His arms and wrists ached with every single pull at the massive tool so the overall impression he got was that he now had a very precise idea of how it must feel like to get hit by a steamroller.

He definitely felt and - what was even worse - also looked like he had been overrun by a steam engine. The red Reaper didn't even dare to take a closer look at the head-high mirrors lining the white walls of the Entrance Hall. The glimpse he got at himself out of tired, crimson shaded eyes was more than enough to make him almost burst out into tears.

_I just want to dig a deep hole and die…_

The remains of his tattered, blood stained suit wrapping around his exhausted figure were an awful sight. He had removed his jacket halfway through the sleeping capital so the formally dazzlingly white, now soiled shirt clung in wet rags to his body like a second, see-through skin.

His cherished hair was damp due to the exertion and the consistently falling snow. Sweaty and completely out of place some very renitent bangs stuck to his reddened face like they had been glued to it permanently. All in all he felt and looked like a severely abused ragdoll.

_You damn bastard! When I get hold of you again then may woe betide you!_

With a terribly razing sound Grell dragged the scythe the last few metres over the neatly polished marble floor, leaving deep, nasty scratches on the shiny tiles.

Taking one last deep breath Grell pulled the blade towards the gigantic statue in the middle of the hall, the shrill squeaking sound echoed in his ears.

"What on earth happened to you, Grell Sutcliff?"

Grell petrified at the spot. He knew this derisive voice_ very_ well.

This composed voice with the _overly _obvious mocking touch which evoked in Grell the desire to throw up immediately every time he heard it – and this time was no exception, so he was more than reluctant to turn his head towards the person who talked to him.

Glaring cautiously over his left shoulder his eyes met the icy gaze of William _goddamn T._ Spears, leaning against the socket of the statue in a similarly stiff manner.

_He of all people… _

"I had a rather busy night, thank you for your heart-warming concern, _Will_," Grell hissed viciously through painfully gritted teeth, exaggerating the pronunciation of William's nickname on full purpose.

"It looks more like a rather unpleasant night," William countered, not in the least offended. "You look simply terrible."

"Oh yes and judging by your speech you feel deeply sorry for me, of course."

_Don't flip, Grell. Keep your temper… you can't strangle this guy in here... just wait until you meet him in a more secluded place to cut out his tongue!_

"I'm just worried about the reputation of the Grim Reaper's, that's all. Presupposed you actually achieve to become one that is," was the condescendingly sounding answer. William crossed the arms in front of his neatly ironed shirt and intensified his observation out of yellowish-green eyes. Grell didn't like the colour of them at all.

It vaguely resembled the deep green shade of his night's encounter but it wasn't in the slightest of the same warm, soothing intensity. Grell had always felt like under the supervision of a vulture when William was near so now was no exception either.

Analysing his opposite from top to bottom with an uninterpretable expression Williams eyes got stuck on one particular thing. His eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitted.

"Where did you get _this _scythe from?"

His voice suddenly got am usually sharp edge.

Throwing his head back Grell narrowed his eyes to slots.

"That is absolutely none of your business."

"That isn't your scythe. Do you know what-"

"I don't care, I don't care!" Grell cut him off, waving his hands in the air in a rejecting gesture.

"Don't bother me any further. I'll go to the Office now to get my promotion. Have a nice evening, _Will_."

A soft, almost inaudible chuckle made Grell suddenly feel way less self-esteemed as he would have liked it. A strange smile had crept onto the always so serious features of his fellow student. It looked disturbing.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, that's for sure."

Without even looking at him for a second time, Grell headed towards the office, the shrill sound of the dragged scythe accompanying every of his steps.

William watched him until Grell had left the Great Hall. Shaking his head in disbelief he turned his gaze towards the massive marble figure above his head – a really impressive statue which was holding an enormous scythe.

"Seriously Grell Sutcliff, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

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><p><em>Poor William... despite my rather unflattering description of him I really, really like him :)<em>  
><em>If there wasn't a certain sexy, grey haired Shinigami he would by far be my favourite partner for little Grell. ^^<em> 


	10. A Touch of Shame

_****Thank you all for your great comments, I'm really happy to see that people like my story and that I can bring you a little fun:)) Hope you enjoy the new chapter, the next one will be the last one, so stay tuned ;)_

_Regards, Eisteufel ^.^_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter X<br>**_

_**A Touch of Shame**_

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><p><em>This is bad! Really, really bad!<em>

Biting his fingernails until he could taste the coppery flavour of his own blood Grell watched the scenery in front of his eyes with a consistently rising feeling of discomfort.

Mr. Turner the young attendant of his superior Mr. Greyes flipped the pages of the To-Die-List with stoical precision until he finally closed the file with a deep, unnerved frown on his pale face.

"Mr. Sutcliff," he audibly cleared his throat.

"Exactly why didn't you collect the records of Mr. Mills as scheduled?"

He folded his thin fingers in front of his face in anticipation. In the meantime Greyes went back and forth behind Turner's desk like a tiger in his cage. The stony expression on his pinched face caused Grell to swallow hard. He feared the worst.

_Let's get this over with..._

"Because they were cut," Grell whispered feebly now fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

"_Cut_?"

The reddish brown eyebrows of his opposite twitched dangerously. Greyes continued his walk through the office without batting an eye.

"Yes cut," Grell repeated with a low grown as the gaze of Turner intensified its sceptical analysis. He made a short gesture with his hand.

"Please go on."

"They were cut because otherwise they would have killed me. I lost hold over my scythe so he had-"

"_How on earth can one lose his Death Scythe_?" the raging voice of Greyes suddenly roared through the little office and caused Grell to wince involuntarily to its croaky sound. He was entirely sure that every reaper in London must have heard the scolding now.

"It wasn't lost, it broke," the young reaper meekly tried to intervene but was completely overrun by his supervisor. The head of his superior hovered above him like an overripe tomato, ready, willing and able to explode any second.

"That was a _Death Scythe_!" Greyes yelled hoarsely, running his fingers over his baldness again and again in a hectic gesture. His younger attendant shook his head in silent disapproval considering Grell's faux pas.

"Do you know what the decisive feature of a Death Scythe is, Sutcliff? Do you?" Greyes threatened him with his index finger only centimetres away from Grell's face.

"They can't be cut by anything but a Death Scythe! How on earth did you break it then?"

Grell stared at him open mouthed. How the hell was_ he_ supposed to know why theses hideous records were able to cut the damn thing? They did it. That was the point of the matter!

"That... that was because... but the records..."

A small chuckled from behind made Grell choke on his words.

"Please excuse the interruption Trevor but I have to say that the quality of these trainee-scythes really should improve."

Grell's jaw dropped when he saw the slender figure approaching him with vast steps. Grinning his trademark Cheshire Cat grin his encounter positioned himself right next to him, affectionately placing his bony hand on the youth's shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"You can't compare these toys with a real scythe, you know?" the silvery haired man continued airily while leaning down to reach out for his scythe at Grell's feet.

"Thank you for taking care of it," he whispered into Grell's ear, holding his heavy tool with a satisfied smirk.

It took Greyes several seconds to get his wits together. Grell could see how the little gear wheels in his head rotated round and round before he finally managed to ask in a composed, monotonous voice:

"Well... can you explain this whole situation to me then?"

He crossed his arms defensively, eyeing his opposite in a mixture of disapproval and incomprehension.

"A trainee fails to reap the person he was supposed to. That's not such a big deal, it happens once in a while. But interestingly enough he claims that he has reaped a completely different person instead, although he has lost his own scythe. Well, obviously he carried yours with him as I see now. And above all out of nowhere you appear here and take this boy under your wings?"

"Didn't see that coming did you?" the man next to Grell snickered as if Greyes had told him a very fine joke.

"It's actually rather simple. I think when someone did a good job he should be rewarded. And Mr. Sutcliff did a very good job indeed. Granted, he was in need of a little assistance and he did not reap the person he was supposed to but he reaped someone from the assignment list. This should suffice for passing the exam, don't you think?"

It was Greyes' young assistant Turner who harrumphed dryly again.

"So I assume you cut the records of Mr. Mills?"

Green eyes looked at Turner with an uninterpretable glimmer in them.

"There wouldn't have been a necessity to do so, if the Office wouldn't have sent a trainee to his first reaping without a partner. Under the circumstances given he put up a good fight, showed a lot of compassion."

"Do you have proof that Mr. Sutcliff collected the records of Miss Trellawny?" Greyes sneered.

"Of course. The scythe," Grell almost yelled. He didn't get the whole situation at all but there was one thing he knew damn well. He had reaped Martha Trellawny with his own hands and with this monstrosity of a scythe and he had personally dragged the damn thing though half of London in deep of winter. He absolutely refused to see that all the toil of the night should have been in vain.

"It proves it! It proves that Martha Trellawny's records have been collected!" the young reaper therefore continued passionately. "They can be turned into books of doomsday and stored in the Library now. Everything is fine!"

"Mr. Sutcliff, as far as I can see _nothing_ is fine. Apart from the fact that Mr. Mills' records are genuinely lost now..."

Greyes' eyes narrowed to thin slots when he turned his attention towards Grell's companion once more.

"It was _your_ job to reap Martha Trellawny. Who says that the boy did it and not you?"

"Oh Trevor..." the silvery haired man groaned, knitting his thin brows in shammed surprise.

"I wonder if I should feel appalled by your scepticism," he mused, pointing his overly long fingernail against his upper lip. "_I _said that the boy did the job, isn't that enough? Or..." he fixed Greyes with his daunting emerald gaze, "are you implying that I would lie to you?"

Greyes' expression made a slip.

"Do I really have to proof my reliability? I thought we were beyond that centuries ago."

Grell blinkered when he saw that Greyes dropped his gaze.

Could it be? Was the manager of the London Dispatch Society really intimidated by this strange, haggard guy?

"I have a question..."

Turning his head towards his proponent Grell batted his crimson eyelashes questioningly.

"Who are you anyway?"

Grell wasn't even sure if that was anatomically possible but he would have sworn that Greyes' face had just now turned to an even deeper shade of purple. But before he could scold the redhead once again, the silvery haired man simply cut him off with just a small movement of his black clothed arm.

He deliberately cleaned his rectangular glasses with the sleeve of his trench-coat before he put them back on his nose to look at Grell with blatant amusement written all over his scarred face.

"The name is Undertaker," he simply stated, pursing his thin lips.

"I'm not surprised at all that you didn't even realize who saved your little, redheaded stern, Sutcliff," Greyes muttered sorely, rolling his eyes but Grell wasn't even listening anymore.

"Undertaker?" he only mumbled completely awestruck, staring at his opposite with eyes wide open. "_The_ Undertaker?"

"The very same."

_The Death God everyone told us about since the very first day we set foot into the Library? The reaper who is so high above us worthless maggots that we should feel deeply grateful when he even bothers to look at us lowly creatures? _The _Undertaker? That's the reason why he is hot as hell…_

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

That_ was what William meant. The statue… Gods Grell, there is a hugeass statue of him in the Entrance Hall! You stood below it so many times and you didn't recognize him? That is why he appeared so strangely familiar to you… it's because…_

"You are a legend," Grell whispered more to himself but to Undertaker. In fact he didn't even realize he had said the words out loud – it forced a small smile onto Undertaker's scarred features.

"Undertaker is just fine, dear," he reassured in a soothing voice before he turned his attention towards Greyes and Turner again.

"Well… what do you think then?" Undertaker smiled a mischievous, lopsided sneer while holding his scythe in a defensive manner as if he was willing to strike out the very second one of them would say the wrong words.

"Seriously... who would have guessed that _you _of all people would bother to help this little troublemaker?" Greyes frowned, reluctantly reaching over for the file on the desk.

With a disapproving expression he stamped John Mills' file "case closed".

"Grim Reaper Grell Sutcliff," he obviously struggled to utter the words. Turner bit back a smile.

"You're officially given the permission to go to Mr. Anderson in order to get your glasses customized. Furthermore, it obliges to your consideration which kind of personal Death Scythe you want to get registered."

"Personally I recommend a good old-fashioned scythe," Undertaker grinned sheepishly, running his fingers affectionately over the blade of his scythe like so many times before. Grell shuddered involuntarily.

_No! Definitely not!_

"I'll think about it," Grell murmured hoarsely before he turned on his heel, heading towards the glasses department with faltering steps.

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><p><em>Rrrrrrr... yes hot, sexy Shinitaker... fangirl-heart what more could you want?^^<em> 


	11. The Touch of a Legend

_Final chapter! Hell Yeah ^.^_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter XI<br>**_

_**The Touch of a Legend**_

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><p><em><em>"My, my. So _this_ is what you've chosen for your personal Death Scythe? I assume I _really _must be getting old. In my younger days you wouldn't have been caught dead with one of these... _things_."

"It's a chainsaw," Grell countered wearily. Running his fingers through his short, red tresses he looked down at the heavy tool at his feet with rather uncertainty. "I've chosen it just because it was the only thing that was at least remotely red."

"It's good to see you care so much about the merits of technology," Undertaker said deadpan when he closed in the distance between himself and Grell who stood at the socket of his marble image and appeared so utterly lonely and lost in the oversized and empty entrance hall of the Library.

"It seems you have recovered a little. How are you feeling, dear?"

Grell shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm fine," he mumbled when he watched the legendary reaper approaching him. He didn't want to delve into the subject any further. Involuntarily his fingers wandered to the plaster covering the deep cut on his cheek. He lightly touched the wet line where blood had seeped through the gauze. He desperately hoped it wouldn't leave a scar.

"Don't worry," Undertaker reassured, as if he could read minds.

"The cut won't leave a mark so your pretty face will not turn out to look like this. That's for sure," he snickered when the nail of his index finger traced the thin, neatly stitched line running from his right cheek up to his left eye in silent demonstration before he casually leaned against the socket of his own image.

"You've got a really nice statue of yourself, Legendary Death God" the young reaper stated tonelessly.

Undertaker's thin eyebrow twitched and he frowned when he looked up to the massive statue.

"It's pretty nice they left out the scars."

He hiked his shoulders lackadaisically.

"But I don't actually care. And I think they didn't particularly portray me at my best. I really have smaller feet than this, don't you agree?"

Grell kept silent even though he fought hard to resist the inner urge to just raise his head and check the statement of his companion this instant. He started a molecular analysis of his shoes instead.

"Undertaker?" Grell finally whispered warily, head still lowered, gaze attached to his feet.

It felt strange to call him by his name. He had to admit it was a more than fitting name indeed but it felt odd, nonetheless - strangely familiar and intimate – as if a head-high, invisible barrier between them had instantaneously crumbled into tiny pieces.

He hadn't even noticed that he did not know the name of his encounter before and now the realization that he had been messing with a legendary Death God all along hit him at full tilt.

It surprised him to no extent that the Undertaker seemed not to take too much offence of his previous behaviour after all.

Grell recognized a flick of silvery hair when Undertaker brushed some gotten astray strands out of his scarred face, thereby looking at him expectantly.

"Yes dear?" he purred, still leaning against the socket of his larger-than-life statue, casually playing with his braid.

Grell took a deep sharp breath.

"Thank you."

Slight amusement turned into genuine amazement. Green eyes, hooded by long silver eyelashes snapped open and widened in surprise, blinkered until his trademark smile found its way back onto Undertaker's face and crept in place.

"You're welcome."

Grell nodded vaguely, stoically ignoring the satisfied smirk around the other's mouth.

"Even though your temper is kind of demanding, to say the least, you actually did pretty well tonight," Undertaker stated by crossing his arms in front of his chest in cool observation.

"Why did you help me anyway?"

"Because you amused me. I think I've always had a fondness for redheads, dear. And maybe because you were in serious need of some help."

"Is that so…"

"Don't you want to put on your glasses now? They didn't give them to you for nothing."

"Sure… my glasses…" Grell mumbled absently.

An uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment arose inside his stomach when the nagging memories of the fight flooded back into his tired mind. With the memory of this particularly nasty feeling of vulnerability which had taken over his body when his glasses had been blown off leading the way.

He definitely couldn't take credit for the fact that he was not only standing here hale and hearty but that he was now actually permitted to wear customized glasses. Definitely not! Numb fingers browsed through the pockets of his suit until they finally got hold of a little black spectacle case. With an indecisive expression on his face he fiddled with the golden clasp, not sure if he really should open the lid to wear the sign of a fully-fledged Reaper.

"Oh my."

Slender fingers took the leather case out of Grell's trembling hands. With a mild knowing chuckle Undertaker removed Grell's trainee-glasses so the world around the young reaper got all foggy and blurred for a second time the night.

In a well versed gesture Undertaker unfolded the sides of the frame and finally pushed the brand-new blood red reading aid up onto Grell's nose. Golden eyes gazed at him in startled surprise when the Library – and what was way more important: the handsome face in front of him – became so clear like never before.

With the same sceptical expression Undertaker had had when he did this in the little narrow alley he bent his brow and adjusted the glasses until they fitted perfectly and to his utmost satisfaction before he casually flipped the small chain around Grell's neck. Something attached to the chain made him crack into a faint smile when one almost white eyebrow was raised in slight astonishment.

"I see~ It seems you've developed a fancy for skulls," he joked in a delighted tone of voice when the little swinging skulls caught his attention.

"Very nice indeed. And it sure is a good thing this spectacles have a chain," Undertaker continued airily while he playfully wrapped the thin bead-chain around his fingernail.

"So you won't lose them so easily again."

"Oh what a pity because that was _exactly _what I wanted to do with my new glasses," Grell snapped defiantly.

"I think I shall make a habit of it. I lose them once in a while to feel the thrill of being blind and the ecstatic sensation when I finally manage to find them again."

"And once again you just don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?" Undertaker hissed between puckered lips. Grell abruptly lost his tongue as a warm hand cupping his chin forced him to look up into green depths - due to his new glasses now pin sharp and crystal clear.

"Don't take offence, Grell," Undertaker whispered teasingly when his finger traced the line of Grell's lower lip before he leaned in, stopped only a hair's breadth away from them so that every single word was breathed against slightly parted lips.

"This is just a well-meant advice, nothing else. Please take good care of the glasses. They suit you so well."

_**- The End -**_

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><p><em>It's done! Finally, finally it is done... ^.^<em>

_Thank you all for reading and commenting!_

_And of course for sticking with this story (and with me) to the very end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. See you at the next story (A really long one about Lau is already in production, so if you are interested... you know were you can find me. ;))_

_I hope I could entertain you. ^^_

_Greetings, Eisteufel**  
><strong>_


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